


Tool of his Hatred

by Arithanas



Category: Don Juan (2003)
Genre: Dark fic, Domestic Violence, F/M, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Threesome - F/M/M, infidelity (Forced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don Juan is a man capable of think on his feet, especially when it comes to hurt those who love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tool of his Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm pretty sure Felix Garay didn't planned the subtext I got from the first act, I take the opportunity to explain that characters are his, but this dark idea is all mine. 
> 
> The musical is a beautiful piece, worthy of lighter fics.

_Je ne sais pas moi qui le connais_  
 _Si un coeur battait sous sa veste_  
 _Si ce n'est pas que je l'aimais_  
 _Il faudrait que je le deteste_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doña Elvira was used to burn the midnight oil, waiting for a love that would never be. She still waited for the moment when her husband will settle down and take care of her instead of disappearing for days scandalizing Seville.

Knitting helped her pass the time the first nights, but even the most complicate pattern only could distract her mind for so long. Most of the time, Doña Elvira sat by the window, looking at the silent streets of Seville wondering what sort of life they neighbors lead, imagining they had all the bliss she was unable to find in her empty bed and her absent husband.

That was one of the nights when Doña Elvira burned more than the midnight oil, her situation couldn’t be worst or so she thought. She would never stop wondering why it was her destiny to marry the worst womanizer that God sent to this land. Doña Elvira would have pity of poor Seville if she were not too busy feeling it for her own fate.

Two figures turned the corner in the far side of the street; one of them was very familiar. Doña Elvira hurried to blow her candle, hoping against all hopes that her husband came home to stay the night, like any other God-fearing husband. She waited by the bed, in still expectation, hearing how the heavy wooden door creaked and the sound of his boots on the quarry tiles, but the sound of his voice shattered all her hopes with calculated malice.

“You must see why I’m searching for warm hugs outside my own bed.” The angry voice of her husband filled the house. “You must see my wife!”

“I already know your wife,” another man’s voice could be heard.

That man was Don Carlos, the one of his husband called a friend, if such thing was possible to have for Don Juan. She has seen the man before, after their wedding. Don Carlos was always there when her husband, blind drunk, returned home after laying waste to another woman’s honor; but the embarrassment in his eyes always told Doña Elvira that Don Carlos had compassion to spare for her situation.

“And you should pay your wife the same courtesy you pay to any other woman you had bedded,” Don Carlos continued, his voice sounded hollow, with a hint of pity. “Let her alone and recompense her love with cruel indifference.”

“That woman deserves more than cruel indifference… Elvira! Come here, woman!”

A wife must heed her husband voice, even if that voice spoke in anger; that was the advice the nuns used to give her when she lived inside the protective walls of the convent. Doña Elvira wrapped herself in her hand-knitted dressing gown since she must be respectable; part of her wished that the garment remembers her husband the late hour.

She appeared in the charming salon where they used to play their marital roles: she, the dutiful wife; he, the wanton husband, who was brought home by an altruistic soul. This night the condition was not so different except for one vital thing: Don Juan was sober and in complete control of his ruthless abilities.

Something inside her was shouting her to run,the shine behind those pale eyes could not be good news, but she was slow to react and that gave him time to walk the few steps which separated them.

“With this my father married me,” Don Juan proclaimed and dragged Doña Elvira near their guest, digging his fingers on the tender flesh of her neck, “a passable face, a bunch of long hair and a complete vacant gaze. Can a man remain satisfied with such a trifling lot? Be honest!”

“Let her alone,” Don Carlos said. “Be a man and respect her frailty!”

“Answer me, God damn it!”

Don Juan accompanied his expletive with a sudden jerk of his arm.Doña Elvira understood immediately that his husband was determined to hurt her and tried to get free from his fist.

“You are hurting her!” Don Carlos exclaimed and tried to help her efforts.

Don Juan uttered a sigh of contempt and with unexpected speed his parrying dagger was in his hand.

“Stay where you are or I’ll really hurt her,” Don Juan warned him, “This is my wife. She’s my possession; I can do with her as I please…”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Doña Elvira was surprised someone voiced her own opinion with identical disbelief.

“No, that’s the only good thing I got from this marriage. Total possession and there is nothing you can do about it. No one might stand between a man and his woman”

“Don Juan, hear yourself, that should be the only reason you are to be satisfied. She’s yours like any other woman would ever be!”

“Can any man would ever be satisfied with _this_?”

With those words, Don Juan turned his dagger towards Doña Elvira’s body. She flinched but she still felt the cold iron caress when the blade torn her nightdress.

“Look at these tits: almost nonexistent!” Don Juan exclaimed, using his parrying dagger to lift her breast, “She has the narrow hips of a man, Carlos, and her cunt is so dry that is like fucking sand!”

“Enough of this nonsense!”

Don Carlos step forward and put his hand on Don Juan’s shoulder, as if he was ready to shake him into his senses.

“I’ll kill you, if you dare to say another word,” Don Juan said, turning his parrying dagger toward that man who dared to stand his ground before him.

“I’ll be just another man you put down to the ground,” Don Carlos explained with complete cold blood. “Do it, _Don_ Juan, and let’s see if you are not to be hung like the scoundrel you are.”

A burst of laughing escaped Don Juan’s throat as he took a step back, dragging Doña Elvira with him.

“No one could blame me if I kill you now, Carlos!”

Doña Elvira followed the dreadful train of thought of her husband, but the puzzled gesture in the face of Don Carlos made her realize that he couldn’t appreciate the magnitude of the mess they had gotten into.

“You are in my house, at untimely hours, looking at my half-naked wife!” Another loud laugh accompanied the explanation. “It is my right as a cuckold husband to kill you, and to kill her too, if that appease my bruised honor!”

As Don Carlos realized his part of unwitting pawn he played, Don Juan shoved Doña Elvira aside as if she was not important any more. She lay there, sprawled, confused, and too numb to react.

“I would never…”

“Oh, but you will be dead, Carlos, and dead men can’t testify either way.”

Doña Elvira couldn’t believe her ears, her eyes darted to Don Carlos waist and found it bereft of the indispensables of implements to defend himself; for the first time, Doña Elvira noticed that he was one of the few who doesn’t burden their persona with the weight of cold steel.

“Now, if you want my forgiveness, and her life, kneel before her and to ask her with utter politeness to forget the rudeness you've dared to commit…”

Befuddled, Don Carlos approached to the place where Doña Elvira was trying to sit in the floor, unsure whether he should offer his apologies for the bad behavior of another person, but the threat over their heads weighted heavy and at least he could express regret for making her situation worse. So he knelt down with his heart full of contrition.

Don Juan waited until he got down before whipping Don Carlos in the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. Doña Elvira let out a startled yelp before the dead weight of a fully-grown man to fall over her, effectively trapping her body against the cold quarry tiles.

It was such a strange sensation to feel the weight of a man other than her husband between her arms; fortunately, it wasn’t long, Don Carlos came to his senses shortly after, he moaned and shook his head before he realized he was lying upon the body of a married woman. They shared a look full of embarrassment, forgotten from everything except their chagrin.

Pain replaces shame in the face of Don Carlos and Elvira didn’t understand why. For a brief moment, the words of her husband haunted her mind and some part of her mind started to believe that share her intimacy might be a torment for any man. Then, the face of Don Juan dominated her vision and she understood, while drowning in mortification, that her husband was cuckolding her with a man, right before her eyes. Doña Elvira found she was unable to utter a moan to express her outrage.

“That’s a nice hole, all thigh and welcoming!” Don Juan exclaimed with that half ironic tone that was a perpetual fixture in his voice.

Don Carlos made the threat to get up, but Don Juan brought down the knife to force him to hold the position.

“Don’t fight me, Carlos,” Don Juan said and caressed carelessly the head of his victim with a sort of caustic tenderness; it was plain to see those two played this decadent game before. “We both know you were longing for this…”

Don Carlos just grunted when Don Juan applied some force to his hip to drive his hardness deeper. Doña Elvira looked at them with disbelief and a bit of revulsion; her mind was unable to comprehend the depravity of the fact.

“Your body tells no lies,” Don Juan said and pushed Don Carlos down. “It would be a shame to let all this beauty go to waste…”

Elvira felt the touch of her husband’s hand between her parted legs followed by another piece of meat, rounded, hot, and completely foreign to her touch. It took her some moments to understand her husband was using his friend’s body to exercise his marital privileges. They both stay still, hearing the fretting pounding of their hearts together, sharing a glance with their wide open eyes; for a moment, they both bonded over the fear Don Juan made them feel.

The moment was brief, because a sharp stabbing made Don Carlos close his eyes and wince, while Doña Elvira felt how his hard rod advanced inside her, parting her unyielding flesh, bringing pain and horror in equal parts.

“Forgive me,” Don Carlos groaned and Doña Elvira understood that the action suited him at least as ill as it suited her. “I can’t help it.”

Doña Elvira, the eyes full of tears, felt the intruder receding from her insides and watched the wicked smile on her husband face as he was getting ready to dive in again. She waited for the pain, but it didn’t come with the much dreaded force, it hurt less as if something had dampen the devilish potency of Don Juan’s hate.

She opened her eyes and saw Don Carlos brazing himself against the new jab opposing his strength to that of her husband, looking to spare her the share of pain and misery Don Juan was trying to deliver her by proxy.

Gratitude was mixed with disgust and shame. Doña Elvira raised her hand as if to alleviate the suffering he was enduring for her.Just one touch, something innocent to express what her lips were unable to articulate; and Don Carlos understood her meaning, because his eyes welled up and his face sought the touch.

“I told you, Carlos!” Don Juan exclaimed when he noticed his triumph, “This woman is not better than a whore: With a cock inside no vow will stand true!”

“Show some compassion, you beast!” Don Carlos darted his head toward his tormentor.

Don Juan scoffed at the idea and pushed Don Carlos toward the naked breast of his wife before returning to his selfish task. Doña Elvira, instinctively, wrapped her arms around Don Carlos, attempting a feeble protection for this partner in suffering, she didn’t care what that horrible man could think of it. Don Carlos groaned his discomfort, but the sound was mostly muffled by the generous breast that offered him shelter, but still, he managed to shield her from Don Juan’s furor; Doña Elvira felt it by the way his shoulders tense at the imminent impact and by the way his ragged breath cascaded between the lumps of her chest.

“Come on, Carlos,” Don Juan urged among short gasps that betrayed his pleasure. “I don’t have all the night to ram your ass!”

“Then, stop doing it!”

“No! You are not going to get up until you have sprayed your joy into my wife.”

“What?!”

“Come on, be a friend and made my wife a pretty bastard,” Don Juan said leaning over Don Carlos’ back. “Maybe we are lucky and the baby would be your spitting image and I’ll get to repudiate her.”

Don Carlos had no words to refute that insane argument, he just stayed put, gritting his teeth; Doña Elvira hugged him close, if that what it took to stop this nightmare, she was willing to do it.

“I don’t blame you,” she said to his ear. “Please, let all of this be over.”

Don Juan laughed at her plea: “He doesn’t want it to be over!”

This last ironic laugh made Don Carlos shudder and he turned his eyes to see Doña Elvira with a defeated and abased look that made her realized Don Carlos had loved the monster too for a long time and her heart was full of compassion, for her and for him.

“My oldest, cherished one…”

The hurt in the back of his eyes when received that endearment could not be tempered by shame or hidden by the silence that became undeclared loyalty to the man who wounded his body, soul and honor. Doña Elvira comprehend, in the way Don Carlos look at her, the secret turmoil of knowing the person you love is little more than a beast and the unbearable impotency of discerning that you will never have the strength to stop that feeling.

Don Juan didn’t cared for the reaction his words could brought, he redoubled his efforts prompting a moan that signaled the final betrayal of Don Carlos’s body; Doña Elvira only could cringe while they, among moans and gasping for breath, finished their disgusting trade, trying to not think about the possibility of getting pregnant from it.

“I can’t help it…”Don Carlos said although Doña Elvira did not understand if he was talking about his feelings or the fact he couldn’t fight his urges anymore.

There was an oppressive silence after Don Juan let out a triumphant sight. Doña Elvira didn’t dare to move, waiting for the piercing hardness to recede, surprised because the space between her legs felt wet like never before.

“I always told it was a shame you were not born with a proper cunt, Carlos,” Don Juan said, placing his parrying dagger in the sheath, “then again, if you were born with one, I surely might not stand you…”

And with that odd thought, Don Juan turned away from the two people who had just attacked as villainously, as if they had ceased to matter at the time that he got what he wanted. Doña Elvira heard a couple of muffled sobs and she realized those left her own throat and she couldn’t help let the tears follow their course.

Don Carlos winced and took his weight off Doña Elvira who kept crying, oblivious of the rest of the world until Don Carlos pulled to his chest and offered a shoulder to cry on. He didn’t utter a word, respecting her need to lament her misfortune.When the tears subsided, Doña Elvira turned her eyes towards him, hoping to find Don Carlos in a similar state, but he was just there, stoical, hieratic, almost indifferent; the only outward sign of his agitation was a deeply pronounced scowl.

“A man can only be hurt so many times, Doña Elvira...” Don Carlos said when he noticed her eyes on him.

Love is a terrible thing, Elvira thought and extended her hand to gift a caress upon the head of the man who was used to harm her, aiming to soothe that horrible inferno she knew all too well. That broke the damp and a single fugitive tear escaped his eyes.

“Two oxen yoked to the same yoke, by force, are to be friends, Don Carlos,” Elvira muttered and used the hem of her torn up nightdress to wipe away the wet traces of his distress. “I can’t hate you.”

Don Carlos hung his head, his shoulders shaking from the effort to suppress his bawling regret. Doña Elvira cried shamelessly all the tears he couldn’t spend.

“I can’t hate him either…”

 


End file.
